Chances are you don’t. That’s okay;
it’s not exactly that famous. But if you do, you are to be congratulated for
identifying the earliest surviving complete piece of written music, generally
called “Hurrian Hymn no. 6”.

More or less complete, at least –
it’s broken in half, and one of the halves is crumbling (fired clay tablets
don’t exactly react well to water). It’s not surprising that it’s in such bad
shape: it’s about 3200 years old. It was found in the ruins of the city of
Ugarit, near the modern town of Ras Shamra (Cape Fennel), Syria.

Although the tablet has seen better
days, enough of the cuneiform signs written on it can be read to allow a rough
transcription into the Latin alphabet. Two transcriptions were made from the
original in the 1960s; some of the surface of the damaged half of the tablet
has since flaked off. The first transcription by E. Laroche, provides the groundwork
for Kilmer and Marcelle-Guillemin’s versions. The second, a (relatively) more
recent one by M. Dietrich and O. Loretz based on 1960s photographs of the
tablet taken from several angles, is more complete, and is used in the versions
by Thiel and Krispijn.

Enough can be read from what remains
to create a more-or-less comprehensive version of the text. Even so, there are
enough differences between the transliterations that I’ve opted to show six
variants:

Laroche

[X-X]

ḫa-nu?-ta

ni-ya-ša

zi-ú-e

š[i?]-nu-te

zu-tu-ri-ya

ú-pu-X-ra

[X-X-X-]-ur-ni

ta-ša-al

ki-il-[l]a

[z]i?-li

ši-i[p?-X]

ḫu-ma-ru-ḫa-at

ú-wa-ri

Kilmer

[x (x)]

ḫan[u]ta

niyaša

ziwe

š[i]nute

˹zutu˺riya

ubugara

˹kud˺urni

tašal

killa

[z]ili

šipri

ḫumaruḫat

uwa[ri]

Duchesne-Guillemin

[xxx]

-ḫanuta

niyaša

ziwe

šinute

zuturiya

ubugara

ḫuburni

tašal

killa

zili

šipri

(ḫumaruḫat

uwari)

Dietrich &
Loretz

[XXX]

ḫa-aš-ta

ni-ia-ša

zi-ú-e

ši-nu-te

zu-tu-ri-ia

ú-pu-ga-ra

at?/ak??-ḫu-ur-ni

ta-ša-al

ki-il-[l]a

mu-li

ši-ip-ri

ḫu-ma-ru-ḫa-at

ú-wa-r[i]

Thiel

[XXX]

ḫa-aš-ta

ni-ya-ša

zi-ú-e

ši-nu-te

zu-tu-ri-ya

ú-pu-ga-ra

at?/ak??-ḫu-ur-ni

ta-ša-al

ki-il-[l]a

mu-li

ši-ip-ri

ḫu-ma-ru-ḫa-at

ú-wa-r[i]

Krispijn

[x-a-aš]-ḫa-aš-ta-ni-ya-ša

zi-ú-e

ši-nu-te

zu-tu-ri-ya

ú-pu-ga-ra-ra

at/ak-ḫu-ur-ni

ta-ša-al

ki-il-la

mu-li

ši-ip-ri

(ḫu-ma-ru-ḫa-at

ú-wa-ri)

L

ḫu-ma-ru-ḫa-at

ú-wa-ri

wa-an-da-[n]i-ta

ú?-ku-ri

ku-ur-ku-ur-ta

i-ša-al-la

ú-la-li

kab-gi

a[l]-li-X-gi

ši-ri-it?

X-[X]-nu-šu

wə-ša-al

ta-ti-ib

ti-ši-a

Ki

ḫumaruḫat

uwari

wanda[n]ita

ukuri

kurkurta

išalla

ulali

kabgili

a[l]li[x]gi

širit

[mur?]nušu

wešal

tatib

tišiya

D-G

ḫumaruḫat

uwari

wandanita

ukuri

kurkurta

išalla

ulali

kabgili

alligi

širit

[xx]-nušu

(wešal

tatib

tišiya)

D&L

ḫu-ma-ru-ḫa-at

ú-wa-ri

wa-an-da-ni-ta

ú-ku-ri

ku-ur-ku-ur-ta

i-ša-al-la

ú-la-li

kab-gi

ú-li-ú-gi

ši-ir-it

ú?-nu-šu

wa-ša-al

ta-ti-ib

ti-ši-a

T

ḫu-ma-ru-ḫa-at

ú-wa-ri

wa-an-da-ni-ta

ú-ku-ri

ku-ur-ku-ur-ta

i-ša-al-la

ú-la-li

kab-gi

ú-li-ú-gi

ši-ir-it

ú?-nu-šu

wa-ša-al

ta-ti-ib

ti-ši-a

Kr

ḫu-ma-ru-ḫa-at

ú-wa-ri

wa-an-da-ni-ta

ú-ku-ri

ku-ur-ku-ur-ta

i-ša-al-la

ú-la-li

kab-gi

ú-li-ú-gi

ši-ir-it

ú?-nu-šu

(we-ša-al

ta-ti-ib

ti-ši-a)

L

wə-ša-al

ta-ti-ib

ti4-ši-a

ú-nu-[g]a?

kap-ši-li

ú-nu-ga?-at

ak-li

ša-am-ša-am-me-X--li-il

uk-la-al

tu-nu-ni-ta-X

[X-X]-ka

ka-li-ta-ni-il

ni-ka-la

Ki

wešal

tatib

tišia

unu[g]a

kabšili

unugat

akli

šamšam

me[x]-lil

uklal

tununita˹ka?˺

[ḫanu?]ka

kalitanil

nikala

D-G

wešal

tatib

tišia

unuga

kabšili

unugat

akli

šamšamme

[x]-lil

uklal

tununita

[xxx]-ka

(kalitanil

nikala)

D&L

wa-ša-al

ta-ti-ib

ti4-ši-a

ú-nu-ul

kab-ši-li

ú-nu-ul-at

ak-li

ša-am-ša-am-me-ni

ta-li-il

uk-la-al

tu-nu-ni-ta

sa?-X-X-X-X-ka

ka-li-ta-ni-il

ni-ka-la

T

wa-ša-al

ta-ti-ib

ti4-ši-a

ú-nu-ul

kab-ši-li

ú-nu-ul-al

ak-li

ša-am-ša-am-me-en-ga-li-il

uk-la-al

tu-nu-ni-ta

sa?-X-X-X-X-ka

ka-li-ta-ni-il

ni-ka-la

Kr

we-ša-al

ta-ti-ib

di-ši-ya

ú-nu-ul

kab-ši-li

ú-nu-ul-al

ak-li

ša-am-ša-am-me-ni

ta-li-il

uk-la-al

tu-nu-ni-ta

sa?-x-x-x-x-ka

(ka-li-ta-ni-il

ni-ka-la)

L

ka-li-ta-ni-il

ni-ka-la

ni-ḫ[u?-r]a?-ša-al

ḫa-na

ḫa-nu-te-ti

at-ta-ya-aš-ta-al?

a-tar-ri

ḫu-e-ti

ḫa-nu-ka

[-a]š-ša-a-ti

we-e-wə

ḫa-nu-ku

Ki

kalitanil

nikala

ni[hura?]šal

ḫana

ḫanuteti

attayaštal

attari

ta(?)eti

ḫanuka

[xxxxxxxx]-šati

wewe

ḫanuku

D-G

kalitanil

nikala

nihurašal

ḫana

ḫanuteti

attayaštal

attari

ḫueti

ḫanuka

[xxxxxxx]-aš

šati

wewe

ḫanuku

D&L

ka-li-ta-ni-il

ni-ka-la

ni-ḫ[u]-r[a]-ša-al

ḫa-na

ḫa-nu-te-ti

at-ta-ia-aš-ta-al

a-tar-ri

ḫu-e-ti

ḫa-nu-ka

X-zu?-[X-X-X-a]š?-ša-a-ti

we-e-we

ḫa-nu-ku

T

ka-li-ta-ni-il

ni-ka-la

ni-ḫ[u]-r[a]-ša-al

ḫa-na

ḫa-nu-te-ti

at-ta-ya aš-ta-al

a-tar-ri

ḫu-e-ti

ḫa-nu-ka

X-zu?-[X-X-X-a]š?-ša-a-ti

we-e-we

ḫa-nu-ku

Kr

ka-li-ta-ni-il

ni-ka-la

ni-ḫ[u]-r[a]-ša-al

ḫa-na

ḫa-nu-te-ti

at-ta-ya-aš-ta-al

a-tar-ri

ḫu-e-ti

ḫa-nu-ka

X-zu

[x-x-x-a]š-ša-a-ti

we-e-we

ḫa-nu-ku

L

kab-li-te

3

ir-bu-te

1

kab-li-te

2?

X-X-X

[ti]-ti-mi-šar-te

10

uš-ta-ma-a-ri

Ki

qablite

3

irbute

1

qablite

3

˹ša? šini?˺

titimišarte

10

uštamari

D-G

kablite

3

irbute

1

kablite

3

[ešgi]

titimišarte

10

uštamari

D&L

qáb-li-te

3

ir-bu-te

1

qáb-li-te

3

ša-aḫ-ri

1

i-šar-te

10

uš-ta-ma-ari

T

qáb-li-te

3

ir-bu-te

1

qáb-li-te

3

ša-aḫ-ri

1

i-šar-te

10

uš-ta-ma a-ri

Kr

kab-li-te

3

ir-bu-te

1

kab-li-te

3

ša-aḫ-re

1

i-šar-te

10

uš-ta-ma-a-re

L

ti-ti-mi-šar-ta

2

zi-ir-te

1

ša-[a]ḫ-ri

2

X-X-te

2

ir-bu-te

2

Ki

titimišarte

2

zirte

1

šaḫri

2

zi[rt]te

2

irbute

2?

D-G

titimišarte

2

zirte

1

šaaḫri

2

zirt]te

2

šaššate

2

D&L

ti-ti-mi-šar-te

2

zi-ir-te

1

ša-[a]ḫ-ri

2

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

2

T

ti-ti-mi-šar-te

2

zi-ir-te

1

ša-[a]ḫ-ri

2

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

2

Kr

ti-ti-mi-šar-te

2

zi-ir-te

1

ša-[a]ḫ-re

2

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

2

L

tup-pu-nu

1

ša-aš-ša-ta

2

irbute

X

[š]a-[aš-š]a-t[e]

X

ti-tar-kab-li

1

ti-ti-mi-šar-te

4

Ki

umbube

1

šaššate

2

irbute

[1]

ša[šš]ate

2?

titarqabli

1

titimišarte

4

D-G

embube

1

šaššate

2

irbute

1

šaššate

1

titarqabli

1

titim išarte

4

D&L

um-bu-be

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

1[+X]

na-ad-qáb-li

1

ti-tar-qáb-li

1

ti-ti-mi-šar-te

4

T

um-bu-be

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

1[+X]

na-ad-qáb-li

1

ti-tar-qáb-li

1

ti-ti-mi-šar-te

4

Kr

um-bu-be

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

1+[x]

na-ad-kab-le

1

ti-tar-kab-le

1

ti-ti-mi-šar-te

4

L

zi-it-te

1

ša-aḫ-ri

2

ša-aš-ša-t[e]

4

ir-bu-te

1

na-at-kab-li

1

ša-aḫ-ri

[1]

Ki

zirte

1

šaḫri

2

šaššate

4

irbute

1

nadqabli

1

šaḫri

[2?]

D-G

zirte

1

šaaḫri

2

šaššate

4

irbute

1

naatqabli

1

šaaḫri

1

D&L

zi-ir-te

1

ša-aḫ-ri

2

ša-aš-ša-te

4

ir-bu-te

1

na-ad-qáb-li

1

ša-aḫ-ri

1

T

zi-ir-te

1

ša-aḫ-ri

2

ša-aš-ša-te

4

ir-bu-te

1

na-ad-qáb-li

1

ša-aḫ-ri

1

Kr

zi-ir-te

1

ša-aḫ-re

2

ša-aš-ša-te

4

ir-bu-te

1

na-ad-kab-le

1

ša-aḫ-re

1

L

ša-aš-ša-te

4

ša-aḫ-ri

1

ša-aš-š[a-t]e

2

ša-aḫ-ri

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-[b]u-[te]

2

D&L

ša-aš-ša-te

4

ša-aḫ-ri

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ša-aḫ-ri

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

2

Ki

šaššate

4?

šaḫri

1

šašš[at]e

2

šaḫri

1

šaššate

2

irbute

2?

D-G

šaššate

4

šaaḫri

1

šaššate

2

šaaḫri

1

šaššate

2

irbute

2

T

ša-aš-ša-te

4

ša-aḫ-ri

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ša-aḫ-ri

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

2

Kr

ša-aš-ša-te

4

ša-aḫ-re

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ša-aḫ-re

1

ša-aš-ša-te

2

ir-bu-te

2

L

ki-it-me

2

kab-li-te

3

ki-it-[me]

1

kab-li-te

4

ki-it-me

1

kab-li-te

5?

Ki

kitme

2

qablite

3

kit[me]

1

qablite

4

kitme

1

qablite

3?
[xxx(x)]

D-G

kitme

2

kablite

3

kitme

1

kablite

4

kitme

1

qablite

3 or 5

D&L

ki-it-me

2

qáb-li-te

3

ki-it-m[e]

1

qáb-li-te

4

ki-it-me

1

qáb-li-te

2

T

ki-it-me

2

qáb-li-te

3

ki-it-m[e]

1

qáb-li-te

4

ki-it-me

1

qáb-li-te

2

Kr

ki-it-me

2

kab-li-te

3

ki-it-m[e]

1

kab-li-te

4

ki-it-me

1

kab-li-te

2

L

[an-nu]-ú

za-am-ma-aš-ša

ni-it-kib-li

za-[lu-zi

]ŠU

mAm-mu-ra-bi

Ki

[ann]ű

zammaru

nidqibli

za[luzi

ša

DINGIR.MEŠ

TA

mUrḫiya]

ŠU

mAmmu-rapi

D&L

[an-nu]-ú

za-am-ma-rum

ša ni-id-qib-li

za-l[u]-z[i

]ŠU

mAm-mu-ra-bi

Kr

[an-nu]-ú

za-am-ma-rum

ša ni-id-kib-li

za-l[u]-z[i

]šu

Iam-mu-ra-bi

Unfortunately, when it comes to the meaning
of the lyrics and the reading of the music, consensus is hard to find.

Three attempted translations exist.
The first of these was made by the same man who made the first transcription of
the tablet, Émil Laroche. However, it barely qualifies as a translation, as
only a handful of words are translated:

humaruhat
= some kind of metal

wandanita
= “to the right”.

išalla
= from išaš “me”.

weš
= "thou"

tatib
= "thou lovest"

tišia
= from tiš- "heart" (thus
"Thou, thou lovest them in the heart")

šamšamme-
= "sesame"?

nikala
= Nikkal

ḫana,
ḫanuteti, ḫanuka, ḫanuku
= from ḫan- "give
birth"

we-e-wə
= of you

In his credit, he wrote this in the
1960s, when much less was known about Hurrian, and he made the (probably)
accurate assumption that “these lines have the appearance of a hymn or prayer.”

The second translation, from an
article written in 1977 by Hans-Jochen Thiel, is far more thorough, and uses a
transcription done by M. Dietrich and O. Loretz from 1975. Unfortunately, the
article is in German, which I only half-understand. Therefore, I will give the
translation in its original language:

The third translation, by Theo J. H.
Krispijn, was published much more recently, in 2000. Krispijn bases his version
on Thiel’s translation, but points out that the extensive material published
about Hurrian since 1977 has “substantially” increased our understanding of the
language.

This is without a doubt the best translation
of the three. Why? Well, for one thing, Krispijn’s translation is accompanied
by a transcription of the text which reflects the modern understanding of what
Hurrian really sounded like (its phonology). Thiel only tried this with a
handful of words. Far more impressive, however, is what follows the
transcription: a careful translation and grammatical explanation of each word.
Laroche tried this over three decades earlier, but, again, only with a handful
of words

While this article is in German, a
more recent article from 2008 gives his translation in English. I’ll give you
the best of both worlds: the Hurrian transcription of the 2000 article and the
English translation of the 2008 article. (Just as a side note, the Hurrian
transcription reads more or less like English in terms of the sounds of the
letters, and “ḫ” is pronounced
like the German “Bach”. I’ve replaced Krispijn’s “v”, “w” and “c” with
with their English phonetic equivalents “f”, “v” and “ts”. “x”, as always,
stands for an illegible or broken part of the tablet, not for the “ks” sound).

WARNING:
THE FOLLOWING SECTION CONTAINS MUSICAL TECHNOBABBLE. IF YOU’RE HERE FOR THE
MUSIC, SKIP THIS SECTION – BUT AT YOUR OWN PERIL.

Notice how the music is written in
words followed by numbers. Unfortunately for modern researchers, this notation
system is completely unlike modern musical notation.

Firstly, staff notation would not be
invented for over two millennia; so right off the bat, we’re denied one of the
most useful reference points for figuring exact pitches. The same problem
exists in the 60-or-so surviving fragments of ancient Greek music; to resolve
this, and to allow relatively authentic reproductions of the music, a decision
was made by F. Bellermann in 1840 about which symbol would match which pitch,
based on replicas made of ancient Greek instruments. This has since been found
to be off from the actual tuning by around a minor 3rd (Pöhlmann,
Egert & West, Martin L. Documents of
Ancient Greek Music. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 2001. It’s a good book,
and contains all Ancient Greek music known to date). A similar general
consensus has been agreed upon for Mesopotamian music like the Hurrian Hymn. Of
course, in both the Ancient Greek and Mesopotamian cases, exact tuning varied
from location to location, since there was no international or even
interregional standard.

In addition to pitch, the tuning and
mode of a specific piece are just as important: the opening movement of
Beethoven’s 5th wouldn’t have quite the same vehemence if it was in
major (a.k.a the Ionian mode). On the Hymn tablet, the expression “ni-id
qib-li” in the last line refers to the mode. This matches the nid qabli mode
described in Babylonian musical documents. The fact that “ni-id qib-li” and “nid
qabli” don’t perfectly match isn’t an issue: in fact, all terms but one in the
notational half of the tablet are corruptions of musical terms used in the
native Akkadian language of the region of Babylon.

Here, however, a problem arises:
which modern mode matches “nid qabli”?

To answer that, you need to know a
little bit of background. You see, the Mesopotamian music system is based
around the harp or lyre (a portable harp, usually about the size of a laptop).
The 9 strings of the instrument were like modern harps in that each string was
one step up or down in the scale from the string beside it. The scales used by
the Mesopotamians had seven notes, just like modern Western music (A B C D E F
G). So, when there was a piece in what we nowadays would call a “major key”,
the harpist would have to tune his strings to, say, C-D-E-F-G-A-B-C-D.

Actually, it was a little more
complex than that. It wasn’t just the “key” of the piece that decided the mode.
Let’s say you had one of these ancient lyres. It would probably be painted with
bright colours, and if it was a court instrument (if you’re playing for a king,
you’re going to want to pomp it up and look as fancy and exciting as possible),
there would be gems and gold, silver and lapis lazuli inlaid in it. Now, let’s
say you wanted to play the melody from the beginning of Beethoven’s 5th:

(from Franz Liszt’s piano version)

You
see that’s in C minor. Now, if you tuned your strings to C-D-E-F-G-A-B-C-D,
you’ll run into trouble almost immediately: the string is tuned to E-natural,
but you have to play an E-flat! Now what do you do? Well, you have to re-tune
the instrument to the key of C minor. That’s exactly what the Mesopotamians
did, and each different tuning had its own name.

Now we get to the problem: which
modern mode matches “nid qabli”? That is, if you start playing in this tuning
on the first string and work your way up to the seventh string, what’s the
modern name of the mode that you hear?

In order to answer that, you need to
know if you’re going up or down the scale – that is, is string 2 lower or
higher in pitch than string 1? Not a single Mesopotamian document gives the
answer, so scholars have tried to find out indirectly, based on the phrasing
and ordering of tablets about tuning and music theory. So far, their opinions
differ. In general, most resources consider string 2 to be higher in pitch than
string 1, so by playing the strings 1-2-3- and so on, you’d get a rising scale.
However, several scholars, including Raoul Vitate, Martin West and Theo
Krispijn, raise an objection to this: based on images of people playing harps
and lyres from various Mesopotamian sites, as well as analyzing the meaning of
the names of certain strings, they concluded that the strings descended in
pitch with their number, i.e. string 2 would be lower in pitch than string 1.

So we know the name of the right tuning, but we don’t know what it means. Great.

It gets worse. Unlike what is done
today with melodies, where each note is assigned one specific pitch (e.g. A),
the system used by Hurrian Hymn 6 (and the fragments of other hymns found at
Ugarit) assigns each note a certain interval
(e.g. “embube”, matching Akkadian “embubu”, i.e. strings 3 & 7). If this
wasn’t confusing enough, a number occurs after each interval. This has caused
no end of confusion. Does this mean that both pitches are sung simultaneously
as many times as the number? (Remember the lyrics? This wasn’t just an
instrumental piece, it was a song!) Does it mean to sing a scale from one pitch
to the other, repeating certain pitches if the specified number is larger than
the number of pitches in the interval? Or does it mean something completely
different?

This is where practically all hope
of a definitive version breaks down. Aside from the fact that the majority
(Kilmer, Černý, West, Krispijn, Monzo) use the “two simultaneous pitches”
idea as the basis for their reconstructions, very little can be found in common
between the resulting pieces. Part of the reason why some researchers (Wulstan,
Duchesne-Guillemin, Vitale, Dumbrill) choose other interpretations is that
applying the “simultaneous pitches” approach means that one of the oldest
examples of written music is polyphonic, i.e. has more than one voice. Now,
it’s known that limited amounts of polyphony existed in ancient Greece, but even
there examples of it are rare and poorly understood (by modern readers). The
notion that the earliest recorded music may have been polyphonic seems almost
inconceivable: people usually tend to sing the same melody at the same pitch,
although men usually sing an octave below women. Polyphony is very complex: the
earliest definite examples of a
polyphonic tradition don’t appear until after the year 1000 A.D.! That’s over
2000 years after Hurrian Hymn no. 6 was written! If that isn’t reason enough,
only the vast minority of human musical traditions are polyphonic. Not
surprising, then, that researchers have been reluctant to accept its presence
in Mesopotamia.

Each musical realization has
something in its favour, and since so little is certain about Mesopotamian
music theory, writing, performance – heck, Mesopotamian music in general –,
it’s more or less up to personal preference which version one finds most
convincing. In my case, I’m most familiar with the versions by Kilmer and West,
and have heard CD recordings of both. While Kilmer’s version has the strength
of a polyphonic realisation behind it, I prefer West’s version. Why? It sounds
so simple and austere, with a seriousness that suits the lyrics. After all,
this is a childless woman praying to a goddess to grant her offspring. That’s
hardly light subject matter! In addition, there’s an old rule called “Occam’s
Razor” that states “the simplest answer is usually the right one”.

For those interested, here are the
notes I made during my research. They include a very, very tentative setting of
the text to the version by West. Here’s a score version of it: